Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

More Time	By : debbiechan Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 2348 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-More Time
- 1
More Time
by debbiechan

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite, although I don’t know if he can’t rightly claim responsibility for the anime filler from which this story derives. The filler is widely despised, and yet we Ishida fans can’t take our eyes off it. We hereby claim it as an outlet for Ishida porn.
Description: NC-17. Yoshino/Ishida. He’s back in her room in episode 74 and guess what? There’s only one narrow bed and unaccounted for passage of time. PWP. A sequel to "Yoshino Takes the Time."
Warnings: Sex. Spoilers. Ishida’s still mostly uke (but not as uke as in the fillers).

The first time the huge public clock above the apartment rang, Ishida felt a swelling in his bones and watched circles imploding in his cup of tea. Would his temples ever stop pounding? The head injury was affecting his logic; what was he doing here with this Bound woman? From their first encounter, her seductiveness should have set off warning bells.
By the second time the clock rang, Yoshino had not revealed her intentions but had taken a shower and donned a yellow bathrobe similar to the one Ishida was wearing. Ishida’s robe was the larger; it obviously belonged to a man. Yoshino, by all appearances, lived alone though. There was a half-sized refrigerator in the efficiency space. A small round table with a single chair. One narrow bed….

Seven thirty a.m. was less disquieting; the half-hour chime did not last as long as the hour chime, and already Ishida anticipated the dull shock that ran from the base of his skull to the small of his back. Before her shower, Yoshino had mentioned that one grew accustomed to the noise. Then when Ishida had made (what he thought) was the astute observation that she lived near a loud clock in order to be reminded of time, Yoshino had smiled (condescendingly?) and said, "I think I would like to die."

There was a profound intimacy in her telling him that. Even in their last encounter, when Yoshino had fondled him to orgasm through a blanket and his clothes, Ishida had not felt such intimacy.

The last clang of seven-thirty echoed in his ears. I am not well. I am not thinking well. I walked away from everyone, and perhaps I’ve only put everyone in more danger.

Ishida sat down abruptly on the bed because there was nowhere else to sit.
"Are you dizzy?" Yoshino asked. "What were you told about your injury at the hospital?"
Ishida set his jaw. "I’m fine. I’m going to be fine." He despised the solicitous look in her eyes. Why had he ever trusted her? This business about a Quincy being a key to this era; it had made him feel special; she made him feel--
"Did anyone say anything about a hematoma? Spinal compression?"
Something about her clinical questioning reminded Ishida of his father. Ishida found hospital jargon annoying. "How do you know these terms?" he asked.
"One doesn’t live for hundreds of years without learning many, many things."
Ishida glanced away, noticed the small hamper in which his rain-drenched sleepwear was bunched against her brown slacks. Some pale undergarments, her odd vest with the bodice that flowered into a frilly sheath, but no other clothes. No other clues.
"I usually do my own laundry in the sink," Yoshino said.
When Ishida looked at Yoshino again, her expression was softer than before. He was very aware of his own nudity under the yellow robe… and the fact that he was alone with a suicidal woman.
"Don’t be concerned," she said. "I can’t have you wearing only those pajamas I found you in. I’ll go out today and buy you something to wear. For the meantime, though, we don’t require clothing." And with those words, she undid the terrycloth knot at her waist. Her robe parted to reveal cleavage, a flat tan belly, a triangle of dark brown hair, and the longest, longest legs.
The audacity of the gesture forced Ishida to raise his eyes to her face. "You think that just because--you expect that we will--" His voice was indignant. His spine straightened itself, but he could not will words into a comprehensible sequence or keep blood from rushing to his face. "How can you--?" He decided not to attempt talking again and stared at Yoshino in hot-faced defiance.
Her brown eyes had a far-away look, and her lips (which had stayed lipstick red after that first kiss on a musty couch) were nude and smiling. Her hair was still wet from the shower, pressed against her skull. Even though her brazen confidence in her own sexuality was infuriating him, Ishida saw that her face had an unpretentious beauty. Without make-up, it was as classic as the finish on a Grecian urn.
"Why not?" she asked. "Are you saving yourself for a true love? Is there some Quincy prohibition against--"
"We only learned one another’s names a few minutes ago," Ishida blurted. Was there no humiliation into which he wouldn’t fall now? Was there no force his fragile body could resist?
"What is there to know? For all you know, Yoshino Soma is one of many names I’ve adopted over the hundreds of years."
She bent towards him--slow, predatory movements--and took off his glasses. She folded the legs of the glasses as if they were precious, breakable things, and as she set the glasses on the nightstand her robe, her robe slipped off her shoulder to reveal one full breast.
Her nipple was unlike the tiny buds Ishida had seen on museum nudes and chests of every adolescent boy in gym class; Yoshino’s nipple was wide and dark, a coppery color, a bruise on overripe fruit. Ishida wanted … to taste it.
Shrugging one shoulder, Yoshino allowed one sleeve of her robe to drop. The rest of the robe followed, and she stood up, arms at her sides, a tall, angular but womanly figure. "It’s a way to pass the time," she said. Her eyebrows raised; her palms opened. "Why not?"
Ishida already knew what he was going to do, but he wanted to defy her. He still had some pride, didn’t he? Pride….

"Such a hard look on such a young person." Melancholy seemed to make her voice even more enticing. "I imagine that you could be… very passionate."
Because he would not drop his head in embarrassment, he raised it in confusion and grimaced at the ceiling. His throat closed. His chest heaved.
Then she was kissing him, and resistance was an outmoded idea. Her hands were on his shoulders and his hands had found her breasts, still slick from her shower. Her mouth sucked at his bottom lip, her tongue pushed past his teeth, and he fell backwards on the bed, aware of the fact that he was still wearing the stupid yellow robe and a bandage around his head that smelled vaguely of antiseptic. Despite all his pitifulness, despite his skull-cracked weakness, something about him was arousing Yoshino because she was writhing above him, making soft growling noises in her throat--
Oh, his hands! He dropped one of his hands, replaced its kneading motions with his mouth. He opened his jaw wide, swirled his tongue around the coarse nipple, nudged his chin into her breast. Her skin smelled soapy and her body felt solid and human but Ishida felt like none of this was happening. From the moment the snake doll had whipped him to the pavement, reality had been a series of sharp physical sensations--all of them too intense to be true. Pain, shame, irresistible pleasure.
"You have a talented mouth." Hot breath on the top of his head. "Suck the other one."
He did, and when the clock chimed seven forty-five, Ishida could feel the rolling waves in Yoshino’s body as well as his own. Her breast trembled in his mouth. Her knees pressed into the mattress, and the coil springs shook like wild.
Touch me, he thought, or I’m going to die, but he didn’t dare say the words. The clock vibrations were bouncing his hips against her thighs.
She must have sensed his need because she pulled her breast out of his mouth with an audible pop and pushed his robe open. She thrust her face against his throat with a suddenness that made him start--is she going to bite?--and her tongue began to sweep down the length of his body. At his chest, her tongue paused to brush each of his nipples. So wet. The tongue swept further down and entered his bellybutton--
Ishida felt himself gasp and his fingers clutch the sheets.
"You’re delicious," she said, and her voice vibrated against his belly.
When she took him into her mouth, it was with a gesture so fluid and un-dramatic that Ishida was certain he was dreaming. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch her. She was just holding him there, not moving her face, her palms pressed against his spread apart thighs.
Time stopped.
Ishida started it again by thrusting his groin forward, a violent gesture against Yoshino’s face. He couldn’t help it. His helplessness was that excruciating. She responded with vehement sucking, one hand grabbing the bottom of his arousal while her lips rubbed up and down the head.
No, no, no.

Ishida sat up. He was going to come already, he was going to come--
But she removed her mouth, and he didn’t. She had crawled up to face him, her crotch hovering above his lap, her eyes blatant. "You seem like the type to worry about these things," she said, "but it’s not necessary to use protection with me. I am immortal. I carry no illnesses."
She sat on him and the feeling was so gripping Ishida felt the need to argue with her just to distract himself from it. "What about--?" His breath staggered. "Pregnancy?"
She began to work herself up and down with casual slowness. "Pregnancy? No. Children are one type of immortality denied my kind."
Ishida put his hands on her shoulders to steady his own panic. This was wrong. This completely against everything he knew about propriety and honor and trust.
"You have lonely eyes," Yoshino said and bent forward to kiss his mouth with a reverent gentleness.
Ishida felt himself shoving her shoulders, not wanting to be pitied, not wanting to be pitiful, and as his tongue pushed past her lips, Yoshino moaned into his mouth and clawed her fingers into his hair. He fell on top of her, and their hips began slamming against one another. Faster, harder, no holding back. His hands moved to clutch her breasts. She made strange growling noises and clenched herself so tightly around him that he knew he was going to die--
The next resounding shudders were not caused by the chiming clock, and that soft cry was his own.
Ishida pulled out as he was still emptying--not believing he had done such a thing--and thought that his heart sounded louder than any public clock. Yoshino cupped his chin in her hand and, breathing hard, stared into his eyes.
"Don’t push yourself," she said (There was that condescending tone again). "I can finish myself and you can… watch."
He took that as a challenge. He could finish her himself. Still not able to breathe without opening his mouth, he kissed her again and pulled away, gulping for air. He kissed her neck, those purple-dark nipples, put his tongue inside her navel as she had done with him, and then, his head still pounding and his fingers trembling, he lifted her thighs and smashed his face against red folds and brown hairs.
It was unfamiliar territory but it became warmly familiar soon.
"Suck," she would command. Or "lick." Or "put your tongue inside." And always "harder, harder" until time had passed, and the clock had struck eight and Ishida was hard again.
And when she came, the sadness in her voice had never been so plain. It hurt Ishida’s heart to hear that sadness, even as he triumphed in her wild thrashing climax that slapped her thighs against his cheeks and knocked one knee against his ear.
He managed to escape her lower body to kiss her on the mouth while she was still spasming. Is this hurting her? "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, conscious of his own innocence. He felt his politeness returning despite his hardness that was pressing the shaking mattress. He had been riding wave after shock wave since entering this room. His whole world had been jolted.
"Don’t stop," she said, kissing him and wrapping her legs around him. He entered her with a strange new compassion filling him. "Don’t stop."
And so the time passed. It was measured by the quarter hour and the chimes that shook the walls. It was measured by the creaking springs of the bed and by her moans. And after Ishida came a third time, he fell asleep and awoke to find that she was gone.
He reached out an arm, caught the nightstand like an invalid, and pulled himself of bed. He was more vulnerable than when he had arrived. He had come to this room not caring about his life, and now he cared about his and hers.
The doorknob turned, and there she was, carrying a shopping bag, wearing the same slacks and peculiar vest that had been in the hamper.
"You’re awake," she said.
She handed him the bag, which contained clothes for him. Later, much later, he would put them on and feel like a hesitant schoolboy again. But for the moment, he wanted to feel anything else. He caught Yoshino’s wrist.
Her eyes caught his meaning.

End

This ficlet is dedicated to Quaedam if and only if she draws Bleach characters in the cast of Blue Velvet as promised.
Edit: and here it is, a lovely drawing by Quaedam called "Do You Have the Time?"

http://www.deviantart.com/view/31391961/
Thank you, Quaedam!
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